


Bergamot

by butterofsalmon



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterofsalmon/pseuds/butterofsalmon
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn learns that his Padawan of over a decade has asked to be reassigned to a new Master. The reason is beyond the Jedi Master’s comprehension. Or is it?
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Reader, Qui-Gon Jinn/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Bergamot

**Author's Note:**

> THE WORLD NEEDS MORE QUI-GON/READER! Anways, let’s say Qui-Gon is ~35 years old in this, or else it’s a little icky. Also this was WAY longer than I expected. Please let me know if there are any typos, and if you liked it! PS. I did a half-assed job editing this, sorry >_>;

Qui-Gon’s hands clenched into fists, then unclenched when his knuckles turned white. It was a habit he had picked up a while ago; he found it was one of the more passive ways for him to mitigate an emotion the temperate man rarely felt: bitterness. 

His footsteps heavy against the marble, he continued his way down the Jedi temple’s corridors, his hands continuing their compressions. His dark brows were knit, and his breath was almost bated. It was a rare sight to behold, Qui-Gon Jinn was unnerved. He was grateful that it was rather late in the evening, otherwise he would have been worried to be seen with such a heavy heart by his colleagues.

But he knew where to find you: the archives. It was one of the things he cherished about you, and what had worked so well between the two of you. Your shared enthusiasm for history and knowledge had strengthened your bond between master and apprentice many times, bringing the two of you close together in spirit. You two were an easy, virtuous match. But at this particular moment in time, Qui-Gon wasn’t so convinced. 

_What was she thinking?!_

By the time he reached the archives’ set of imposing doors, the Jedi Master was practically flustered by his confusion. He could feel your presence behind the doors. With a hand resting on one of the handles, he took a few moments to compose himself. No matter the situation, Qui-Gon Jinn had to set an example, not only for his Padawan, but also for anyone else that he might meet in the archives. Inhaling softly through his nose, eyes closed, he combed back his hair with his free hand and appeased the rumble of his emotions. _Breathe. Calm, empathy._

The door opened with a soft creak, announcing his arrival. His eyes expertly scanned the lower floor of the archives, offering a polite smile to Jocasta who sat occupied behind her desk. He discreetly made his way to a cluster of work stations in the back of the lower level, and let out a docile sigh when he spotted a familiar face. 

Your profile was to him, but he could tell by your body language that he was not alone in his dejection; where he usually found profound concentration, he found your eyes vacant. Being Qui-Gon’s student, you ordinarily would have already noticed him by the time he had set foot into the library, given that he had made no effort to mask his presence. Instead, with your cheek in your hand, you were staring apathetically and absent-mindedly at the wall across from you, deep in thought. 

“Padawan.” 

Qui-Gon’s mellifluous voice filled your head, and he watched you snap your eyes over to him, startled. They were wide for a split second as he closed the space between you two with a few steps, towering over you as you sat at the archives’ desk. He watched your shoulders loosen after a few seconds, and your expression returned to its’ neutral state as you looked up at him. But Qui-Gon wasn’t daft. He could tell by the clench of your jaw, the singular twitch of your brow — normally imperceptible to others — that you were uneasy, as if you were anticipating some sort of onslaught. He knew you were anxious. Intimidated, even.

“Master,” you managed, as diplomatic as you could. “Good evening.”

“May I have a word with you outside?” He replied dryly. You’d never been on the receiving end of his curtness, and you had to admit you weren’t a big fan. However, you didn’t break his eye contact.

He watched your fingers splay over the notebook and scroll you were poring over. “I’m a little busy at the moment. Can this wait until tomorrow morning?”

“No,” the Jedi Master answered sternly.

Your skin prickled at his tone and under his stare, but you didn’t move from your spot. You weren’t ready to have this conversation.

The blue-eyed Jedi, finally exasperated, took a seat at the desk beside you, crossing his booted leg over the other and breaking eye contact with you. His long fingers drummed on the wood of the desk as he scanned your surroundings, restless and almost desperate for a distraction of some sort. When his eyes met yours again, he wore a grave expression.

“Would you care to explain why the Council informed me that you’ve requested to be reassigned to a new Master?”

Your throat suddenly felt very dry, and your palms became clammy. Searching his eyes for any sort of escape from this conversation, you attempted to swallow, but your nervousness only caused your throat to close up even more.

You cleared you throat and expertly averted your eyes to the work on your desk. “When did they inform you?”

Qui-Gon’s powerful gaze never faltered; you could feel him staring a hole through you.

“Mere moments ago,” he answered, his voice indiscernible of any emotion.

You remained silent and motionless, fixated on the words written on the scroll before you. You knew your Master would refuse to speak first, and you would be sitting under his scrutiny for Kriff knows how long if you didn’t answer him. You racked your brain for something tactful to reply.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way, Master,” you spoke, meeting his steadfast gaze. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you myself; I didn’t think the Council would get to you first.”

“You’re not answering my question.” The man answered as if he hadn’t even heard your apology.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, searching the floor for another response.

“No,” you finally said, matter-of-factly.

“No?”

“No, I don’t care to explain why I’ve asked to be reassigned.” You refused to meet his eyes.

It was the second time in ten years that you’d heard Qui-Gon Jinn splutter. “What in the world is the meaning of this?”

It was your turn for your fingers to fidget on your desk.

“I can’t share that information with you, Master.”

“(Y/N), you’re nearly twenty-five. You are to pass the Trials in but a year,” Qui-Gon argued. “Are you quite serious in your request? Have I been lacking as your Master to the point that you can’t even withstand another year with me?”

You noticed the hurt in his voice, though barely perceptible, and it suddenly felt as though a needle was being thread through your heart.

“Master, that’s not the reason,” you answered, angling your entire body to him. He looked paler than usual when your eyes met, and you sucked in a breath. You dreaded the fact that you were causing him pain. “I promise that it isn’t. I just… I can no longer be your apprentice. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why ever not?”

He watched your eyes search his, and for some reason, it almost felt as if you were pleading him to end his questioning. But he had a right to know. He had a right to know why his Padawan, under his care since she had been fifteen years old, was rejecting his tutelage.

When you didn’t answer, he pressed on, his voice becoming softer, “Have I wronged you? Have I hurt you?”

You shook your head.

“Then let me in on this practical joke.”

A pregnant pause, then a meaningful and daring touch to his hand. Your skin against his sent a vibration up his arm, and it caught him off guard. He didn’t even notice that he held his breath when you touched him. “You must trust my decision, Master. I promise I didn’t make it lightly.”

He looked from your hands to your eyes, peering deeply into them for a few moments, as if offering you one last chance to come clean, but he never found any sign of cooperation. He searched your Force bond, but your thoughts were clouded by an immense amount of inner turmoil, so strongly that he couldn’t grasp at any clues. Realizing this, he believed you when you said you hadn’t made this decision lightly, and the fact that you had closed off your thoughts to him was, to Qui-Gon, the final nail in the coffin. There was nothing he could do to make you open up to him.

Accepting this new reality with a sharp inhale, he retracted his hand from yours and moved to stand from his seat.

He was gutted.

You watched him with a heavy heart, and you thanked the Gods that you were seated; your knees suddenly felt like glass.

“Very well. I can sense you’re in a state of great disturbance and uncertainty, my Padawan. I do not wish to inflict more turbulence in you,” he expressed sadly as he looked down at you with those enigmatic eyes of his. An empathetic smile flickered briefly on his lips. And as you watched him begin to retreat into himself, you almost begged him not to leave.

But you knew this had to be done.

“I won’t pretend to not be disappointed, but I wish you well in your endeavours,” the words left his lips diplomatically, all hint of emotion now erased of his face. “I’ll approve your request first thing in the morning.”

The lack of familiarity in his speech crushed you, and the blooming pain in your chest forced you to look away.

“Thank you.” You muttered.

“May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

As he turned to leave, he heard you reply dutifully, “And with you, Master.”

He winced at the break in your voice.

* * *

The next few months were difficult, to say the very least.

You were unable to find a Jedi Master to train you so late in your apprenticeship, and you were forced to train alone until the Council permitted you to attempt the Trials. Without the wisdom and experience of a Master, your only hope was to rely on any and all texts you could find on the Trials, and to incessantly train. Your life now solely consisted of trips to the archives and the Padawan’s training dojo.

The fact that your old Master had already taken on a new Padawan hadn’t exactly been a boost to your morale either. You had crossed them a few times in the Jedi temple, but the adolescent boy (Obi-Wan, was it?) didn’t necessarily bother you. What hurt most was the way Qui-Gon treated you. He was polite, in an irritating way, and your conversations never surpassed formalities and small-talk. As if you hadn’t spent over a decade together. Like acquaintances. 

Repressing your love for this man was supposed to be the Jedi way. Why did you feel like you were rotting inside?

You supposed you couldn’t blame him for his behaviour; you had rejected him as a Master and his teachings at the very end of your apprenticeship, essentially humiliating him in the eyes of the Jedi Order. You were lucky he was even acknowledging your existence, like the saint that man was.

With a quiet sigh, you entered your shared quarters. It was nearly midnight, and you found your Padawan roommate, a few years younger than you, fast asleep in her bed. You were tired, but you weren’t ready to sleep; the adrenaline from your sparring session was still coursing through your veins. You needed something to calm you down.

Quietly, as to not wake up your friend, you rummaged through the few belongings you kept in your dresser for anything that you could use to distract yourself. A few bound books, a scarf you borrowed from your classmate, some lightsaber crafting tools, and… a small, colourful container. You felt your heart in your throat.

You carefully pulled out the cylindric container, delicately running your thumb over the gold-plated label, written in a foreign language. Qui-Gon had once read it out to you, an expert in linguistics, but you couldn’t bring yourself to echo his voice in your head.

Popping the lid off the metallic container, you peered into the opening. Dried leaves. You inhaled the sweetness of black tea and bergamot flowers. The scent nearly brought you to tears. Years ago, Qui-Gon had bought this tin of tea for you on Cato Neimoidia during a mission, after he had spotted you eyeing it – secretly, you had thought – in a market. On your way home to Coruscant, the tin had magically appeared in your cloak’s pocket. When you had asked your Master about it, he had simply told you the Force had a funny way of surfacing sometimes. You could still see the smile tugging at his lips.

You sat on the floor with the tea, contemplating the unthinkable for what seemed like hours. Holding the container to your chest, your brain and heart argued before you stood with resolve.

Your moment of bravery hastily led you to Qui-Gon’s chambers. You stood before the familiar door, your heart racing. _He probably isn’t even here… He’s probably on an assignment._ You thought, but something compelled you to knock on his door anyway. Sucking in a breath through your gritted teeth, you nervously waited for a response.

A few seconds passed. Then half a minute. Then two.

You exhaled bleakly, your back rounding as you slouched in disappointment. Perhaps it was for the best that the two of your stayed separated. Turning on your heel, you started your walk back to your own chambers, only to abruptly stop yourself in your tracks.

Nervousness seized your stomach when your eyes met demure, ocean blue across the corridor.

“Hello, Padawan,” Qui-Gon greeted with a small smile, making his way toward you and his chamber. By the looks of it, he was coming home from a mission; though he carried himself calmly and poised, you had memorized the tone of his voice when he was weary.

“Master Jinn,” in the few moments it took you to reply, the tall Jedi had reached you. He kept a polite distance between the two of you, but it was the closest you had been to him in months. “Welcome home.”

There was no way for you to notice the pleasant chill that was sent down his spine when you had welcomed him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, folding his arms into the sleeves of his long, brown cloak. You looked up at him tentatively, having almost forgotten what it was like to be a head shorter than him. You caught his eyes curiously studying the container in your hands.

“I, um,” Suddenly feeling quite childish, you fidgeted with the container. “I stumbled upon this tonight. It’s the tea from –”

“Cato Neimoidia, yes. I remember.” Qui-Gon interjected, as if stating a fact.

You spoke carefully, unable to look him in the eyes. “I was going to brew some, but I remembered that I had saved it all these years because I wanted us to share the first pot.”

It seemed like an eternity passed after you spoke, expecting to be told to go back to your chambers after offering him tea at such an ungodly hour. Timidly, you glanced up at him. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised to find your old Master smiling gently back at you.

“A cup of tea sounds lovely,” he admitted as he punched in the code to his chamber, the door unlocking with a soft hiss. “Come in.”

You couldn’t hold back a smile as you followed the Jedi Consular into his rooms, the door shutting behind you. You were oddly relieved to see that his chambers hadn’t changed much since the last you’d been here as his Padawan; relics and gifts from the places he had travelled to decorated his space. The objects, however, were not to be mistaken as attachments or signs of status. He simply enjoyed surrounding himself with different cultures. You had always loved that about him.

Qui-Gon shed his cloak, draping it over the back of his couch, and you watched him turn on a kettle in his small kitchen. You sat yourself down on one of the couches, setting the tin on his coffee table, beside the jade tea set centered on said table. Your eyes focused on Qui-Gon’s broad shoulders, his back to you as he waited for the water to boil, and you found it hard to pull your eyes away from his body before they wandered for too long. But the silence was comfortable, and you felt a familiar ease ripple through your muscles as you reminisced about all the times you’d sat in this exact spot.

When the Jedi joined you at the table, on the couch opposite from you, he set down the kettle on a rag and placed a small spoon beside the tea canister. You watched as he opened the tin with ease to scoop out the leaves into the teapot. After carefully pouring the steaming water into the pot, he arranged the teacups, placing one in front of you, and one for himself. All so methodical and precise.

“How is your Padawan?” you asked softly, breaking your silence.

“He’s well, but it’s too soon to tell if we will be a good match.”

You nodded, mostly to yourself as Qui-Gon was preoccupied by not over-brewing the tea.

“You look tired.” You commented after a while.

His eyes flickered briefly to yours, then back to his ministrations. “So do you.”

Another moment of silence fell between you two as the Jedi Master poured the tea; first into your cup, then into his own. You admired the golden colour of the beverage before you reached for the cup. Cupping your hands around it, you both took your respective teas, making eye contact as you bowed your heads in a silent cheers. You each took a sip, and you heard Qui-Gon hum in contemplation. The flavour was divine.

A crystal clear voice broke the silence. “You’re preparing for the Trials?” The long-haired brunet asked, setting down his cup and raising his eyes to yours.

“Yes, but I’m realizing it’s not such an easy task to handle alone.”

“If anyone could do it, it’d be you.”

You chuckled. “Thank you, Master Jinn, but I’m lacking the focus.”

The Jedi gave you a curious look, silently encouraging you to continue.

You peered into your teacup, counting the blue flower petals that had fallen into your cup. It wasn’t until a few minutes of silence had passed that you spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve made a wrong choice, even though it was the morally correct decision. I can’t seem to get my mind off of it.”

Qui-Gon sat tranquil for a long while, reaching to take another contemplative gulp of his beverage. The golden liquid coated his tongue, warming his throat as he swallowed.

“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it until it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.” He offered, nursing his cup in his large hands.

“Afresh?” You let out a bitter laugh. “I feel like I’m rotting.”

Qui-Gon was silent, his eyes studying you deeply before he answered.

“Tell me what is devouring you.”

His words made you shudder, and something inside you was stirred. You took a shaky breath as you briefly argued with yourself, wondering if the next words that were to come out of your mouth would be another regret. You averted your eyes as you spoke, giving you superficial courage to speak your heart.

“Do you remember when we were stuck in that ice cave on Hoth? It must’ve been 20 below freezing, and I had used my cloak to start a fire. Of course, the fire hadn’t lasted long, and I found myself shivering so severely that I couldn’t even speak properly. You had embraced me in your arms without a second thought, under your cloak, and we sat and kept each other warm until someone came to rescue us. I don’t think I slept for three nights after that,” you smiled to yourself. “At the time, I didn’t know, but I had fallen in love with you.”

The silence was ear-splitting, your heart pounding, but you didn’t dare look at Qui-Gon.

“I repressed my feelings for years, until one day, the guilt overcame me, and I realized that I couldn’t continue to be your student. It was wrong, Master Jinn,” you paused, lost in your thoughts. “At least, on paper it was wrong. I never felt anything sinister from these feelings, however. But it went against the oath I took, and so I asked to be reassigned before anything spiraled out of my control.” Finally, you mustered enough nerve to look at the older man. Expectedly, you couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes never once faltered, and that intimidated you to no end.

“It was never because of _you_ , Master. I never meant to hurt you in the process. You were, and are, an excellent teacher. I hope this alleviates the strain on your mind…”  
  
Your voice trailed off, and the two of you couldn’t take your eyes off of each other. You waited with bated breath for his response. For anything. A twitch, a smile, a frown. But he simply studied you, ever so calm and cool. With every second that passed, you became more and more embarrassed, until you could no longer sit under his gaze. Setting your cup down on the table, you broke away from his eyes and stood.  
  
“I’m sorry. This was clearly a mistake.” You muttered, moving towards the front door.

Your feet heavy, and your stomach stirring, you felt your eyes begin to sting. You got halfway to the exit before you felt a strong hand catch your wrist and pull you backwards. This caused you to turn around and face Qui-Gon. He pulled you closer to him, your chests mere centimeters apart. You opened your mouth to speak, but his voice conquered yours, his presence intimidating, but his eyes softly poured into yours. He never let go of your wrist.

“You had just turned twenty,” the tone of his voice made your heart race. It was warm and soothing, like that day on Hoth. “We were on Manpha, an escorting mission with a senator. They held a banquet, and a handful of trained musicians were playing. You walked over to the musicians and asked if you could join them. Someone lent you their harmonique, and you played every single note wrong in every single song the entire night. But your smile never once faltered.”

All you could do was stare back at him, confusion apparent on your face.

“That’s when I realized I was in love with you, my Padawan.”

He let go of your wrist, and delicately raised his free hand to your face. His eyes were deep. Genuine. Full of devotion. A calloused thumb caressed your cheek softly, his eyes following the trail of his touch on your soft skin. His lips pulled into a gentle smile.

You were at loss for words for a long while. The shock inflicted by his words was so incredible you couldn’t even relish his touch – all you’ve ever dreamed about for years.

“Attachments are forbidden,” you stammered mindlessly, mystified, and cheeks ablaze. “And you’re my teacher, we can’t possibly –”

“Reach into yourself. What does the Force tell you?” He practically whispered, his large, warm hand cupping your face. You almost sighed. “It has told me everything I need to know.”

Eventually surmounting your shock, you closed your eyes and followed Qui-Gon’s instructions. You beckoned the Force, and found that you only felt harmony and purity where Qui-Gon’s skin touched yours. The anxieties that had poisoned your mind for weeks now faded into nothingness, and serenity flowed through your body. It was the same state of mind you fell into when you tapped into the Light Side in your meditations.

“It tells me that this is,” you opened your eyes slowly to be met with earnest blue, “Balance.”

“The Force will forge the proper path for you, (Y/N), if you choose to listen to it. But it is not dictated by Jedi codes,” Qui-Gon let his hand slip from your cheek, but the space between the two of you remained small. He made sure you felt that his presence was no longer imposing. “The choice is yours, my love. You are free to decide whatever you feel is best for you.”

You sought answers in your other half’s eyes, and you found everything you were looking for. Sincere, pure, untainted love.

A rumble came from his chest as he chuckled when the silence became unbearable for even the unflappable Qui-Gon Jinn, “But don’t let an old man like me influence your choices, my Padawan. I wouldn’t want to –”

He was cut off by the softness of your lips on his, your hands on either side of his bearded face as you rose to the tips of your toes. It took the Jedi by surprise, but he melted into the kiss with a smile, his delightful hands snaking their way to your hips, and you soon felt him take control of the kiss. He was gentle as he pressed his kiss and his body into you, tasting the tea on his lips, but you sensed he was holding back an impossible amount of hunger for you. He kissed you and embraced you as if to make up for all the years he hadn’t been able to, and you couldn’t suppress the sigh that escaped your lips mid-kiss.

You both pulled away, entangled in each other’s arms, your restless breaths mingling with one another’s as you both tried to wrap your minds around what you had just begun. The tips of your noses touching, you tenderly peered into each other’s eyes with adoration, a grin growing on your face. It was infectious, and Qui-Gon found himself returning your smile. His scent – forests, musk, tea – filled your senses as he gazed deeply into your eyes, and it was intoxicating.

His eyes flickered to your lips, and he pressed his own together. Bergamot and your taste tingled on his tongue.

“I think I’ve found my new favourite tea.”


End file.
